And summer's lease . . .

The storm has carried away millions of tiny seeds, blowing them through every door and window, over my clothes, into the bookshelf, and on to the floor. Seeds now form a carpet over the concrete of the carport. I pause to study them, and carve out a heart shape. They are beautiful: tiny gold stars, studded with leaves and petals.
It's the last day of January, but this seed spread brings up a feeling of the season passing all too soon.
On this theme, no-one is more eloquent than Shakespeare. I pick up my well-loved book of his sonnets. Once a warm red, the cover is now faded at the spine. But his words never fade, and who is to say which is more beautiful: that original cover, or the spine with its history of many summers on the shelf.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
And summer's lease hath all too short a date . . . 
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrim'd . . . 

Beach doodles

Another weekend storm has now blown over, and I take a walk to the local beach. The tide's edge is heavy, loaded with black fronds of sea grass and other debris. As the water creeps slowly in, with its storm-cast burden, I doodle in the sand with whatever I find. Then I play with the idea of progression, placing the white shells in a column.
The next thing I know, is that they've turned into a creature, wriggling over the sand.

And then, before I leave, a couple of spirals emerge. That's better: there's nothing like a bit of beach play to get me ready for writing again.

Recovery

After the storms of the weekend, a perfect summer's day arrived. I drove to St Heliers, along Auckland's waterfront, for some dental work. While a crown was being made I sat on the beach under the shade of a pohutukawa tree, resting my eyes on the soothing shape of Rangitoto and recovering from the drilling and jolting in my jaw.

Meanwhile, a man from the Council started making piles of the debris that had been washed up over the weekend. In the end, he had a small truck-load to cart away. So it goes: nature tosses everything hither and thither, we clean up, and the sun shines again. Here the damage was minor, but I'm still remembering Australia and the devastating floods, and thinking how lucky we were, this time.

Summer gifts

An old friend came to visit, bearing gifts from his garden on Waiheke Island. It's usually dry over there, but this year the gardeners are happy because of the torrential rain that fell over the weekend.
He brought purple beans (that turned dark green when I cooked them), silver beet, cucumber, tomatoes, and herbs that he'd tied carefully into separate bundles: parsley, thyme, summer savory, sweet basil, chives, and lemon verbena - 'for tisane' (He's French).
What better gifts can there be than someone's home produce, carefully tended over many weeks. The basil, tomatoes and thyme went into tonight's ratatouille; the chives into a salad; the summer savory with the beans. Ah, summer flavours, food eaten outside, and the taste of a friendship that began in Paris and continues 40 years later. Life is good.

Timeless

There's nothing like wandering up and down a sandy stream for entering a timeless world. I feel like a child myself as I follow Mira and her boat. I am filled with the lazy contentment of summer.

Yet there is time in this picture too, for three generations are present in it. The little barge belonged to my son, Mira's father. Nearly forty years ago I wandered down the same stream with him as he eased the boat into the current and it bobbed through the water. The boat was made by my father especially for him. My father is long dead now, but he would love to know that even though the original tug boat has been lost with the years, the barge remains and continues to give pleasure. A grandfather's love is transmitted through time, to a new generation.

Low tide

Back on the west coast, walking by the sea, I happen to be there at an extreme low tide (affected by last night's full moon no doubt). It's not often I can walk so far out, around the rocks. The smell was tangy, with the promise of sea-food. It's a marvel to see what is revealed at such times:

Kelp, orange tinted, firmly anchored

Kelp, yellow tinted, amongst baby mussels

Sea lettuce, so bright

Starfish eating kelp

Another kelp-eating starfish

Starfish getting friendly

Sure enough, I found mussels. Carefully selecting the largest, I brought a few back to soak in a bucket of clear water overnight, ready to steam open for tomorrow's lunch.

And since this was a day when things are being revealed that aren't usually seen, I shouldn't have been surprised to discover, as I walked back, this fierce animal (or is it two?) on the beach:

Catching the moon

Walking out in the summer night, I stalked the full moon. It appeared over roof tops, then dipped below tall trees. It flashed through branches for a moment, then was gone behind bushy foliage.

Along the path to the waterfront I finally caught it. Here it is above, snared in the seed heads and last petals of the agapanthus that line the path.
And below, here it is, trying to shake free.